Category: Childhood Memories

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Boys Books

Dad loves Boys Books. He collected series such as Henty, Whitman, Kelland, Langworth, Saalfield, Maitland and more. The shelves of these adventure stories covered an entire wall, floor-to-ceiling in his den library. It’s wonderful to know that he read every book in his collection more than once. He enjoyed The Airplane Boys, Mark Tidd, The Lion, and The Boy Knight, The West Point and Annapolis series, The Boy Allies. Dad also read young adult selections by Zane Grey, Roy Rogers, and Gene Autry, and the Camp Fire and Trail by  Leslie. Eventually, he sold most of his collection as his Lewy Body Dementia made it impossible to read, comprehend and enjoy the stories.

To help Dad continue to enjoy his hobby of reading, I shared audio books with him. It never worked. Then I read to him and sometimes he enjoyed it for a few minutes but would usually fall asleep. Coffee table books with large images still seem to hold his interest. Yet they are a far cry from his afternoons sitting under the apple tree with a good book in front of his childhood home. I know because I am a reader too. There is nothing better than being immersed in a good book.

Recently, we rediscovered Disney movies instead of books. Adventure stories with people and animals are Dad’s favorites. Homeward Bound, Call of the Wild, and White Fang have been engaging for him. He is interested enough to watch an entire movie similar to being captured by a good book. Next I am going to try the Huck Finn movie to see if he likes it. 

Today as the movie started and the Disney Castle scrolled onto the screen, Dad said, “That could be their church.”  We chuckled at the idea and agreed we knew a lot of folks who loved everything Disney. Speaking of Disney, I only remember Dad being with me one time at Disneyland. As we entered the park, he asked, “What kind of a mickey mouse place is this?”

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Love Every Day

Scheduling appointments on calendars is routine for most of us. For Dad, it’s been about three years since he has been certain of the year, month, date, day, or hour. All he knows is existence without time. Sometimes I wonder what it is like to live not knowing the difference between night and day. I imagine this moment – and then this moment, only to realize that the epitome of the concept is a perspective for those of us with a memory of the past and plans for the future. Then I try again with a blank slate.

I wonder what Dad is experiencing when he wakes up each morning. He usually wanders about the home for a while then goes back to bed. Sometimes he sleeps. Sometimes he gets ready to go someplace. Sometimes he looks through a few letters and photographs I keep on his bedside table. Sometimes he whispers, talking with someone I cannot see. Occasionally he doesn’t recognize me for a few moments when I enter his room. He recently asked me, “What is your name again?.”  And on rare occasions he asks me “Where am I,” or What are we doing?”  At bedtime, we practice specific habits. I let him know we are the only people in the house, and that we are going to try and sleep all the way until breakfast. It seems to help. I keep the calendar consistent and a patterned daily routine that helps create an environment of security for both of us. Then there are the special days – the holidays.

What is a daughter to do when she wants to celebrate a holiday with her Dad with dementia? Afterall, he won’t remember it. This year, once an hour throughout the day, I reminded Dad that it was Christmas Day. I associated it with holiday traditions such as gift giving, a special meal, church, eggnog, and singing Christmas music which he enjoys. Each time, he replied as if he was being told for the first time. “Really, Oh that’s nice, or Okay.” This is after including him in decorating the tree, making cookies, watching holiday programs, and even keeping an advent calendar over the weeks leading up to the celebration. The reward this Christmas was how much he enjoyed the combination of gifts with his favorite music on a Bluetooth headset and a small plush puppy from his stocking. He was incredibly happy, petting the pup, listening to the music, and singing along. I captured the moment with video. For myself, and most importantly to show it to him so he can experience the moment again. We listen to music and enjoy the imaginary pet every day.

Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. As long as I can remember from the time I was a small girl, Dad always delivered cards, and candy in heart shaped boxes to his girls – my mother, sister, and I. Now I do the same for Dad, even if it’s just for a moment, or several moments of rediscovering the day. Greeting cards have mostly lost meaning for Dad, but he still has a token from a  Valentine’s Day card I gave him years ago. Glued inside the card was a silver heart with the words I Love You Dad engraved on it. Dad usually keeps it on his nightstand. Except every week I find it in the laundry, having fallen out of his pants pocket during the drying cycle. First I hear it clanking around, then I have to dig around the clothes to find it. In a funny way, Dad is still giving me valentines.

We tell each other we love each other every day – morning, noon, and night. Somehow beyond the realm of lost memories and even occasional loss of recognition, our love doesn’t fade. Like the lights on the Christmas tree or the silver heart in Dad’s pocket, every moment on our calendar, we get another opportunity to share our love, and it just keeps shining brighter. This daughter is grateful for love every day.

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Sit Here and Go With Him

1920s Victrola

Yesterday Dad was listening to songs by Marty Robbins on a tablet I keep in his room. He shared with me how much he was enjoying the music by saying, “I can sit here and go with him.” Marty and his ballads have been favorites in Dad’s music collection since I was a child. Dad was telling me that the songs were familiar, that he was listening to the lyrics, and that he was imagining himself in the musical stories. It was great to hear this. Dad’s appreciation of music, recognition of artists, and ability to play records by himself has changed dramatically in the past nine months. This isn’t the first time Lewy Body Dementia has affected our music experience. Read the post “Just a Lil Bit Country.”

Dad no longer requests artists by name even if I give him a choice of just two. He rather quickly lost his ability to operate his favorite modern turntable. He began to think he had placed a record to play when there was nothing on the machine. When he did get something playing, he worried that playing the records would lead to him losing them or breaking them and he would turn it off again. A reasonable understanding might be that this was his way of expressing his own awareness about his loss of these abilities. We never know for certain. I decided to make a change when I walked in Dad’s room, and he was trying to put a cardboard album cover on his foot like a shoe and stand up in it. I gradually removed a few albums at a time. Dad didn’t notice they were missing. Of course, the records and album covers were all mismatched. Eventually, I removed the turntable completely. I replaced it with a tablet where I can load a variety of music apps. I particularly like the voice activated ones. Dad likes the ones with lyrics that scroll while the song is playing. At first he read and sang along. Now he just looks at the words and smiles. He can’t keep up  any longer but likes that they are there. 

The artist that remained the longest was Alan Jackson.  Dad recognized his Precious Memories Collection by the image of the church on the album art. Each time I selected this music, Dad would tell me how he was there at the church with Alan when he recorded the songs. This delusion has also since faded. His music experiences are now only in the moment.

On the fourth of July, we played John Philip Sousa’s Stars and Stripes Forever on Dad’s 1920s Victrola Phonograph. Dad waved his arm as if conducting the orchestra through the entire recording. Last week we played Gene Autry. While singing along with “Home on the Range,” Dad swayed left and right, closed his eyes, and sang the chorus. Whether Dad is riding out on the range with Gene, at church with Alan, or on the streets of Laredo with Marty, he is happy in these moments. Music is no longer an independent past time for Dad. It’s okay.  We have been listening to these songs together for as long as we both can remember.  Wherever he goes in his mind, “I can sit here and go with him.”

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My People

Holding a picture of an ancestor near a family tree.

Dad has always had an interest in the family tree. Fortunately, a not so distant relative in Holland did extensive research and shared it with the entire family. We love knowing that just two generations ago, our paternal family immigrated to the northeastern United States. Stories of their business endeavors are consistent with the entrepreneurial spirit of the family. A great-great grandfather was a merchant who sailed his ship through the English channel trading and selling goods. With records going back to the 1600s, there is even a roster from the Queen’s court that includes our unusual family name. There has always been an idea that the family is primarily from the Netherlands.

We recently tested Dad’s DNA. And yes, 28 percent of his ancestors are from Germanic Europe and 31 percent are from England and Northwestern Europe. This includes Belgium and the Netherlands as well as the opposite side of the English Channel all the way to Wales, The Isle of Man, and south to Guernsey and Jersey Islands.

We knew less about Dad’s maternal family. Interestingly, we learned a greater 36 percent of our ancestors are from Ireland, specifically the regions of Kerry and Cork. And, if we look back far enough, variations of the family name date to medieval times and the Knights of the Templar. These ancestors immigrated to Canada before arriving in the northeastern United States.

My grandfather met my grandmother on a rainy day. She was walking or waiting for a bus, and he offered her a ride. Meanwhile, one of grandfather’s friends (or a cousin) had been hounding him about introducing him to a certain lady. When it finally happened a short time later, it turns out it was the same gal he had given a ride, my grandmother.

Although Dad’s parents passed away in the 1980s, he doesn’t remember that they are gone. Nearly every day for more than a year now, he asks me, “Where are my people?” He then shares some concern about their wellbeing or relays a story about a time when they were together. He sometimes asks if he can visit the family home. Today he told me in his own way, “My mother and my father always made everything nice for me there and worked half the night to do it.” I know this because I am blessed to be part of the same family. Over the years I witnessed how my grandparents and my Dad lived, and role modeled a loving close-knit family with an exemplary work ethic to provide and care for loved ones.

For quite a while now, Dad doesn’t remember most of his people. His younger brother, my younger sister and my mother have also passed on, just to name a few. When Dad asks about his people, I show him pictures of children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. We practice their names and count how many family members are in the generations of the future. I remind Dad, that each and every one of our people are a little bit of his mother and father, and a lot of him.

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Saturday Sandwiches

Dagwood Tower Sandwich On Glass Plate

Dad’s favorite foods are picnic foods and sub sandwiches. The menu includes macaroni and potato salad, corn on the cob, hotdogs, baked beans, chips and cookies. Every Friday night I make him beanie weenies, we have corn once a week and a variety of salads with lunch. About once a month we go out to lunch for subs. Interestingly, he no longer enjoys chili, hot peppers or anything spicy. I can remember walking into the living room when I was about eight years of age to see him sitting on the couch snacking on jalapeno peppers right out of the jar. As I sided up next to him, he said, These peppers are so hot! I asked him, Why don’t you stop eating them? Dad replied, They don’t get hot until I stop eating them. They are so hot I can’t stop.

A jar of jalapeno peppers was always on the table for Saturday lunch. On Saturday Mom would bring out the leftovers from the week and we would eat whatever was on the table. If there wasn’t quite enough Mom would cook up a little bacon. Sometimes Dad picked seasonal fresh pear tomatoes he grew in the side yard. I brought radishes (red and white), carrots and lettuce from my corner garden. I’m not sure exactly how it started, but I can hear my sister saying That’s gross, as Dad sliced hardboiled eggs and radishes and stacked them on top of white Wonder bread covered with barbecue beans. I placed a few slices of bacon on my bread and peanut butter. Dad winked and we just kept going. We started to combine anything we liked to eat onto our sandwiches. Sometimes we toasted the bread or added another slice of bread in the middle. I don’t know where we put all the food, but we ate everything on our plates. The messier the better.

We came up with some traditional combinations like creamy Limberger cheese and onions and added the liver too. Our bologna and mustard layers were usually topped off with potato chips. If there were leftover Bisquick biscuits, we used them instead of bread. There are many recipes that taste just as good cold as hot. Cold split pea soup with ham makes a great spread. Cold SOS is great with lettuce tomatoes and radishes. Who needs mayo when you have gravy? Grapes and onions stick to cream cheese. Macaroni, potato and egg salad are no brainers with sliced hot dogs. There was usually some canned Spam or corned beef and occasionally sardines. If Mom was making pickles, we added the pre-soaked Persian cucumber slices or the Butter Pickles. The more Mom and Sis fussed the more creative we were. Before we took our first bite, we carefully smashed the layers from the top down hoping to get a bite tasting of every flavor at once. We had so much fun.

Dad’s Dagwood inspired Saturday Sandwiches became a tradition. We eat much healthier these days, but when we have BLTs I always make them with peanut butter and Dad makes them with peanut butter and mayo. Dad is almost always willing to eat up leftovers so food doesn’t go to waste. Yesterday during his picnic food lunch he crumbled his chips onto his macaroni salad. I’m grateful he is a good eater. Tomorrow is Saturday. I think we will get out the Borgasmord.

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An Alphabet Morning

Dad walked out of his bedroom this morning with an old brown leather address book in his hand and began to read it to me from the beginning. Yes, the letter A. With each name I asked him about the person listed. Several were woman that were described as “just a friend”. Which is understandable as Dad was married, divorced, widowed and dated during different times in his life. There was a man that went by the name “stick” because he was tall, and according to Dad, the nickname “stuck to stick”. A man that ran a tractor business, the local realtor, friends made through the radio club, tractor club, and his automobile restoration and antiques hobbies. We chuckled when we read names like “5 Star ED”.  

When Dad found the name of a close friend or family member, he read the address and birthdates, most of which have changed. A couple included short directions like “left 6 blocks then right” or “exit then stay for 2 miles”. Local phone numbers were written without the area code. Dad read the name of his sister, her birthdate and said, “in case you need it.” He remembered I had recently looked up her address. “Okay, now be really careful to keep this one”, Dad said, then laughed. It was his next-door neighbor and friend of 40 plus years.

When he made it to the letter L, Dad said, “We can do this til the cows come home. It goes all the way to the back still with numbers.” When he reached the letter N, Dad said, “It would be nice if I talked to some people once in a while.” Dad has outlived the majority of his friends. Knowing this he would occasionally say, “There’s not much use in this number.” Sometimes he would read a number as …3057 or 8. About one long-lost friend, Dad said, “We know where they are because of all the traffic noise.”  He remembered a few young friends like Gus and his brother. Gus was the little brother to a childhood friend of Dad’s that followed the bigger boys around. Dad said, “He cried a lot.” There were also quite a few names Dad could not recall. When he got to the letter T, Dad hopped up and went to get his teeth, which I had not yet noticed were missing.

As he continued to read, Dad mentioned “On this page there is an arrow going all the way to the next page.” While there was only one Barney, Bud, Doug, Dale, Gus, Macel, Meleese, Robin and Roger, there were half a dozen Bobs, several Joans, a few Johns, a couple Bettys and Maries, and the copious amount of Eds, Barbaras and Charles that run in our family. In some sections several generations of a family are listed. Dad thought the entry for his father at the family home was instead for himself. The entries traveled across the country through Arizona, California, Colorado, Florida, Kentucky, New York, Michigan, Ohio, Virginia, Utah and more. In the middle of the letter V Dad realized his untouched breakfast was cold and we stopped to warm it up.

The last entry in Dad’s book is my younger sister and her family. Like many names in his brown leather book, we lost her a few years ago to a complicated illness. Her birthday is in a few days. After Dad read all their names and birthdates, he asked, “Guess what?”  and without waiting for an answer said, “My book is empty from here on – two blank pages. That’s all there is of that.”

This alphabet morning, we found some of Dad’s life in his address book. Time was forgotten and people were remembered.

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Childhood Memories

Dad tells great stories about his childhood. I heard most of them early in life and know the difference between the stories then and the stories that have evolved with dementia. He grew up on 60 acres of land in upstate New York where the woods and creek were his playground. Swimming in a water hole in the creek and lounging with a book under the apple tree are just a few of the images I can capture in my imagination as he describes them. He built several forts throughout the property. Some near the ground, and some in trees that most likely doubled as deer blinds.

One of my favorite stories is hearing about Dad, his young friends and his brother hanging out in their clubhouse near the millrace. As the story goes, brother caught a minnow in a can, and we decided to keep it in our fort. When we came back the next day, the water in the can was frozen and so was the fish. As the morning air warmed, the icy can melted and the fish started swimming around again. That happened for a few days in row. That fish would freeze overnight, then thaw and swim the next day. Dad has shared this story many times over the years. Even today he has never told me what eventually happened to the fish.

Dad loves to tell me about a time when he watched an interaction between his dog and the farm cat. Trixie chased the cat everywhere all the time. One day the pup went racing toward the cat, only this day the cat held its ground. Trixie put on the brakes so hard she flipped up and over the cat. This memory makes Dad laugh every time he tells the story.

Although our family moved to the southwest, I visited Dad’s childhood home several times. When I was eight-years of age my grandmother and I picked blackberries just outside the back kitchen door. She placed them in a small bowl with a little milk and a sprinkle of sugar. Best of all, Dad hooked up a flat trailer to the tractor and took us to the swimming hole at the creek. The road was narrow and lined with trees with a grassy ridge running along the center. It was referred to as the lane. Dad backed the trailer into the water, and my sister and I jumped off it, and spread out our towels on it while we played.  That day I lived one of his stories.

During a visit in the winter when I was 16 years of age, we enjoyed a great family gathering and snowmobiling. A few days later, Dad and I took a quiet walk in the woods. It was a wonderland with sun glistening on the snow clinging to leafless trees. The only footprints were the ones we made together. On this visit I sketched the old barn covered with deep white drifts.

The old barn was torn down some years later, but there are still remnants of old tree forts. The property was sold and the home remodeled. The new owner sent Dad fresh maple syrup from the trees every year for a long time. Dad and I stopped for a visit once and toured the remodel. It was beautiful with an entire wall of windows looking toward the woods. As we were getting ready to leave, we paused for a moment to look at the woods one more time. We noticed a particularly tall old tree that I imagine recorded memories in its rings as Dad grew up and played with his friends and pets and worked the small farm with his family. I learned of aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins visiting the woods too. I am grateful that the tree also journaled the next generation while I played there as a toddler and my daddy, like the tree, watched over me. The old tall tree is now home to a pair of Osprey which seems apropos. Most of Dad’s new stories are for the birds.